


There, They're, Their: Or, How To Write A Paper and Fall In Love

by ContreParry



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe- Modern Thedas, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-01 05:05:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17237930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ContreParry/pseuds/ContreParry
Summary: Fenris, a perfectionist in every way, needs to excel in his literature course "Circle Literature of the Romantic Period." Desperate to boost his grade and prove his worth, he enlists Hawke's help in finding a tutor. But when this tutor turns out to be the outspoken Mage activist and medical student Anders, Fenris wonders if he would be better off without Anders's help.For Wintersend 2018.





	There, They're, Their: Or, How To Write A Paper and Fall In Love

**Author's Note:**

> Here's my 2018 Wintersend Fenders Exchange gift for [CaptainDemetrios](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainDemetrios)! This was a lot of fun to write, and I hope you enjoy it!

It was the first paper of the year, Fenris told himself as he glared at the 71% marked in bright red at the top of the page. It was only the first of many papers, and he would have more chances to improve his work and prove his worth- but the grade stung his pride. Fenris knew that transferring to a new university in another country would be difficult. He knew that immersing himself in a new language and culture and life would be a challenge, especially considering the train wreck that was his life before he left Tevinter. But Fenris was not used to failure, and the red pen marks screamed failure at him. Fenris sighed and shut his folder with a sharp snap before stuffing it into his messenger bag. He hurried down the stairs and into the late summer sunshine, ignoring the tall, lanky man who stood on the sidewalk holding a sign that read “Fuck the Chantry!” in bold red print. Fenris would be the one who was fucked if he didn’t find a way to raise his grades, and soon. He could already see this low score snowball into poorer and poorer grades until he was forced to drop a course or take a failing score, and that wouldn’t do. That wouldn’t do at all.

There was nothing else Fenris could do. He would have to hire a tutor.

-

“No, Fenris, I can’t tutor you for your… Circle Literature of the Romantic Period? What kind of course is this, Fen?” Hawke asked as she looked down at Fenris’s schedule. Fenris frowned and leaned forward in his armchair. He texted Hawke to meet him in the student union building next to the coffee store front, and while they stood in line to order drinks he explained his dilemma. As soon as they found their seats in a secluded, sunny corner, Hawke started scrolling through her phone and talking while glancing through his schedule.

“It’s a literature course. I needed one to fill the graduation requirements and this one sounded interesting,” Fenris replied, and he took a sip of his coffee. The class was interesting, and Fenris enjoyed speaking with the professor and discussing the material with his classmates. He had a decent enough grasp of Tevinter classics to bring some different interpretations to the materials in the class, but if he couldn’t argue his points clearly in a paper…

“Hawke, I need a tutor. Someone who can spare an hour a week to look over my papers and tell me where I’m going wrong,” Fenris explained. “I’ve never been a skilled writer. I need help.”

“I know, I know,” Hawke soothed. “I’m looking, and trying to figure out who has free time during your free time-“ Hawke’s bright blue eyes narrowed, and she jabbed her finger at another course on Fenris’s schedule. Her bright green, glittery nail polish only seemed to highlight Fenris’s (admittedly dense) class schedule.

“You’re taking Archeology 101. And “History of The Tevinter Imperium.” But you’re from Tevinter,” Hawke said. Fenris sighed and snatched his schedule from Hawke, placing it back in his folder.

“I thought an alternate perspective would be useful,” Fenris muttered. “If you won’t help me-“

“I can’t,” Hawke replied breezily. “Was never good at writing. Let me scribble down my math formulas so I can make the math go and build shit.” Hawke scrolled through her phone again, her eyes flicking across the screen.

“Wonderful,” Fenris said, and he set his coffee down on the ground. “If you can’t help me, can you recommend someone who would be willing to help? I can pay.” Fenris added the last part hastily, knowing that the prospect of payment would entice more willing participants. He could then look over these potential tutors and decide who should teach him. He should pick the best from the selection, after all.

“Hmm, maybe- ah shit, Varric’s doing foreign exchange this semester, he won’t be able to help,” Hawke muttered to herself, “and Isabela’s not exactly an academic author, and Merrill’s doing a double major and internship, I don’t think she can spare a moment even though she’d do it if I asked…”

“Please don’t,” Fenris said firmly. Merrill was… decent enough, all things considered. She was Dalish, but didn’t lord her elvhen superiority over him, poor unrooted city elf that he was. But she tended to ramble and go around in circles. Fenris could safely assume that her tutoring would leave him even more confused than when he started. Fenris could not afford confusion. He had to form a new life. He had to understand and be clearly understood.

“Well, I have one suggestion,” Hawke finally said as she leaned back in her armchair, “but you aren’t going to like it.”

“I’ll take it,” Fenris replied firmly. “I need all the help I can get.”

-

When Fenris told Hawke he needed a tutor for his literature course, this wasn’t who he had in mind.

“He has a cat on a leash,” Fenris stated as he stared at the man who sat on the sunny slope of the grass hill next to the duck pond. He was trailing a shoelace with a bunch of feathers tied to one end. An enormous orange cat scurried after the feather lure, batting at it with enormous white paws. The cat was an unusual sight, certainly, but the man… Fenris turned his head and glared at Hawke, who was pointedly ignoring him. She shaded her eyes with her hand and stared across the pond at the man and cat.

“Yeah, that’s Pounce. The cat, I mean. The man is Anders,” Hawke explained, as if Fenris didn’t know who Anders was. Anders was infamous on campus. He was the medical student who wrote scathing editorials about Mage rights in the school newspaper (not that Fenris read the editorials, thank you very much). But no one could miss Anders, with his signs and protests and newspaper editorials and ridiculous clothing and his face- Fenris frowned and tried to focus on the problem at hand: Anders was an utterly inappropriate tutor for him.

“He has a cat on a leash and he’s wearing a crop top,” Fenris repeated, as if it could change the ridiculousness of this situation. Anders, Mage Rights Activist, tutoring Fenris, the poster child of the Mage Wary. It had to be a joke. Hawke was pulling his leg.

“It’s hot as balls out, Fenris, don’t judge,” Hawke scolded lightly, and Fenris realized that Hawke was Not Joking.

“It says ‘Fuck the Chantry’ on it, Hawke,” Fenris whispered desperately as Hawke herded him across the wooden foot-bridge and closer to Pounce the Cat and Anders the Man. She had to realize that this would be a disaster. She had to know that this was a terrible idea!

“Well maybe the shirt is right!” Hawke laughed, and Fenris winced. Privately he agreed, but Kirkwall as a city was known for its religiosity. To be so blatantly anti-Chantry, even in a university setting, was bold. Eye catching. Fenris tried not to catch eyes anymore. It was what had first gotten him into trouble in Tevinter. And Anders… Anders seemed determined to have all eyes on him at all times. It was a TERRIBLE idea!

“Hawke,” Fenris said with as much solemnity as he could muster, “I asked for a tutor, not a… an activist who ditches class to walk his cat!” As they came ever closer to both Cat and Man, Fenris grew more apprehensive. He could pick out the patches and pins on the man’s canvas shoulder bag. There was another “Fuck the Chantry” pin, a “Suck on a Fireball” patch, a “Mage Rights” pin, a patch of an animal skull that Fenris knew was related to some school of magic- what school of magic was it? His blood ran cold at the thought of blood magic and dark rituals.

Not Tevinter. Not again. Fasta Vass, he couldn’t do this again!

“Fenris, do you trust me?” Hawke asked softly, as if she could feel his apprehension shivering in the space between them.

“Mostly,” Fenris said through gritted teeth. He normally trusted Hawke. Hawke was intelligent. Hawke cared. But sometimes Hawke was Hawke, and Hawke would follow her first impulse and chase it all the way into the ground. 

“Then trust me. Anders is the perfect tutor for you,” Hawke promised, and then she raised her arm and began to wave.

“Hey! Hey, Anders! Anders, hey!” Hawke shouted, and the man turned his head towards them.

“Oh, brilliant. Subtle,” Fenris muttered, and Hawke elbowed his side as Anders unfolded himself, picked up that monstrously large cat, and began to approach them. The sun shone bright on his golden hair, and he was tall. Skinny too, and Fenris wondered how he found the strength to carry such an enormous cat when he was so lanky.

“Play nice, Fen. I’m getting you the help you need,” Hawke retorted. “Anders is a bit of a firebrand, but no one knows Circle history like him. He’s going to help, I promise!”

“I hope so,” Fenris muttered as Anders stepped forward.

“Hawke! Good to see you,” Anders declared. He had a nice voice, Fenris noted. It was a bit sharp. He formed his words crisply, but his tone was a bit soft. Gentle. But the Mage propaganda… but Fenris needed a tutor… but a Mage… but his grades… was that a tattoo on the man’s hip?

“So this is your friend?” Anders asked, and Fenris nearly jumped out of his skin when he realized that his gaze was wandering dangerously low. He quickly looked up and away from that delicate scroll of black ink along Anders’s sharp hip bone to meet those bright eyes. They were also sharp. Sharp, wicked eyes in a sharp, wicked face. And the man was smiling at him, a sharp, wicked smile that suggested that he knew what Fenris was thinking and was amused by it. Fenris glowered. He was not amused.

At all.

“Yeah, this is Fenris. Fenris, this is Anders. Fenris is taking some class on Circle Lit, and it’s kicking his ass,” Hawke explained casually. “So if you’re up to tutoring him-“

“My papers are less than ideal,” Fenris interrupted quickly. “And I will pay you.” Hawke, Fenris decided, couldn’t be trusted to speak for him. She would misinterpret everything. It was already embarrassing enough to be doing poorly in a class and need help, but then to be caught staring at the man and then with Hawke acting as if Fenris was a terrible student or a slacker or- Fenris had to establish some credibility.

Anders, to his credit, only smiled and took Fenris’s hand to shake it. His grip was firm, and his hands and fingers thin. His nails were painted a glossy turquoise, and the paint was chipping away at the ends.

“Great. I’ve got free time on Wednesday afternoons, one to three in the afternoon if you’re up to it. Let’s get started,” Anders said, and all was settled. Fenris would spend Wednesday afternoon from one to three with Anders to go over the material and papers for his Circle Literature of the Romantic Period course. Anders would be paid for his tutoring sessions by the hour. And, hopefully, Fenris’s grade would improve.

Hopefully.

-

Against all expectations, Anders was a good tutor. He was punctual. He focused on the task at hand. He had a talent for explaining things without making Fenris feel stupid or foolish. Fenris could work through a sentence, a paragraph, a page, and Anders helped without judgement. He was surprisingly tactful about Fenris’s atrocious writing, but when it came to other subjects…

“So, not that I’m complaining, but if you need a discount or anything, I’m flexible about payment. The whole ‘20 silvers a session’ was just a negotiation tactic,” Anders said as he picked up Fenris’s rough outline for his next paper. “So if you need something cheaper, and since you’re a friend of Hawke’s, we can work something out. You hardly need a tutor anyways, it’s not like a 74% is a failing grade.”

“I’m good for the money. I need a tutor, and Hawke says you’re good,” Fenris replied shortly, and he suppressed the urge to pluck strands of grass out of the ground as Anders scanned the sheet of lined paper. Vishante Kaffas, those golden brown honey eyes were unnerving! Like a cat’s eyes, Fenris thought, always watching and waiting for a moment of weakness, an opportunity to strike- Fenris glanced at his lap and realized, shamefully, that he had torn out handfuls of grass and clover, and the little bits of plant matter clung to his dark jeans. Hopefully no one would notice.

They were conducting this tutoring session out by the duck pond. The weather was nice, Anders argued, and they might as well enjoy the sun while they could. Fenris privately agreed, and didn’t grumble about the arrangement too much in return. The ducks were quacking and swimming. A group of children on a field trip were enjoying a late lunch and playing tag. Other students milled about the pond. Some napped in the shade, others sat in the grass, and herds of students walked, skated, and biked along the gravel paths. But Anders read the outline, and Fenris waited for his judgement.

“I’m not going to dissect grammar and spelling in an outline,” Anders finally stated, and he scooted closer to Fenris. “It seems a bit pointless to go after a man’s notations, especially when half of it is in another language.”

“That’s just my handwriting,” Fenris muttered.

“Andraste’s Tits, that’s in Common?” Anders breathed out, and Fenris couldn’t help the scowl that crossed his features. So his handwriting was atrocious. So what? He had not had the practice that others did. It didn’t come easily to him!

“Are you quite done?” Fenris asked sharply.

“Yes, yes, but really?” Anders chuckled, but let the topic die. “Anyways, how much critique do you want on the subject matter?”

“I’m desperate for any help, Anders. I’m not… I’m...” Fenris’s caustic reply faltered as he thought back on the pop quiz scores from earlier in the week. A solid C. Not failing, but certainly not good. Fenris could do better. He had to do better! If he failed this, he would just prove that he was nothing more than some empty-headed, dumb creature, just like he always said. Nothing but cheap ornamentation and muscle, made to stand and look beautiful and impressive and intimidating. He was nothing but an empty, stupid, mute statue-

“Fenris? Hey, Fenris?” Anders’s voice pierced through the dark clouds that made up Fenris’s thoughts. That bright, sharp voice that could be cold and kind in equal measure. It was a strange voice, to hold that sort of power.

“Sorry,” Fenris said, and shame made his throat close and his words waver. “I… sorry.” Shame coated his tongue and made the heat burn behind his eyes. Shame made Fenris lower his head and refuse to look beyond the ragged blades of grass that littered his jeans. Maybe this was all foolishness. How could he continue these tutoring sessions when Fenris could barely look his tutor in the eye when his work was being critiqued? Was it because Anders was a Mage? Was it because Fenris could not bear to bare the contents of his mind to the world? He felt like his skin had been rubbed until it was raw.

“No problem,” Anders replied in a tone that was a contradiction- it was puzzled, but understanding. Inviting, yet distant. An invitation for Fenris to come forward and speak, but not a demand. Anders had an odd voice. Anders was an odd man. Fenris was almost tempted to open up, to say something, to explain why his handwriting was poor, why he struggled with writing, why he was so desperate for help when there were others who probably needed more help than him. But Fenris did not elaborate, and Anders did not push. He waited for a moment, cleared his throat, and pressed forward.

“So,” Anders said, pointing to the first bullet point in Fenris’s list, “why don’t we talk about your selection of texts? The Phantom of the Spire is a classic romantic period drama, but it’s not exactly Circle literature.”

“It was written about a Circle and is part of the class material,” Fenris pointed out. It wasn’t as if he was particularly attached to Phantom, but it was the one bit of literature he recognized on the class list. He had planned to compare it to a Tevinter translation, but if Anders was familiar with Circle history and literature like Hawke said, perhaps it would behoove him to listen to Anders’s advice.

“Everyone will write about Phantom, I promise you,” Anders replied, and he sounded just smug enough to grate on Fenris’s nerves.“Especially with that awful movie adaptation. But there are a few other plays and poems and stuff in your syllabus, stuff that will probably be more up your alley.” Anders then winked, which was terribly irritating.

"Besides," Anders added cheerfully, "I think you can come up with something a lot more interesting than this."

"You think?" Fenris asked incredulously. Anders thought that he had something interesting to say? All he needed, all he truly needed, was a better grade. He didn't need to be interesting. Interesting drew attention. Interesting was dangerous. But if he could do better, if he could write something that wasn't just good enough but truly good, even excellent... well, maybe Fenris should listen to what Anders had to say.

"Lucky guess," Anders replied. "You don't seem like the kind of man who takes the easy way out." And while Fenris gaped at this bizarre man sitting next to him in the sunshine, Anders returned his attention to Fenris's notes.

The rest of the tutoring session went like this: Anders pointed out possible texts and bounced ideas off Fenris. He suggested the obscure texts, the radical texts, the texts that frightened Fenris with their boldness and complexity. But he seemed to think Fenris could manage writing about something difficult- and as he spoke and his brown gold eyes brightened, Fenris began to believe, in a corner of his heart, that he could manage too.

-

“So, how was it?” Hawke asked eagerly when Fenris stepped into the hallway of their apartment building. He rolled his eyes and continued walking, while Hawke fell into step right next to him. How long had she been waiting for him to walk through the hall? She didn’t even on the same floor as he did!

“It was… fine,” Fenris begrudgingly admitted. The tutoring session was fine. Good, even! Anders was intelligent, clearly understood the subject matter, and had a way of explaining things clearly and concisely. It was everything Fenris could have wanted and more, yet…

“Fine doesn’t sound fine,” Hawke observes and Fenris took out his keys and unlocked his door. “Look, if he started talking Mage Rights to you, I’m sorry. I warned him that you weren’t exactly the best recruit for a protest and to keep it under wraps-“

“No, he didn’t say anything- and what did you tell him, Hawke?” Fenris asked. Fasta Vass, did Hawke spill his entire sordid life story in front of Anders? Was that the reason for the question about money? Was that the reason why Anders didn’t push?

“I told him that you were an elf from Tevinter, Fen. I think he put two and two together and decided that you had a rough past. He’s passionate but not an idiot, you know,” Hawke said easily. “Ah, almost forgot, Isabela says dinner at hers tonight, bring some wine.” And with that Hawke lazily ambled down the hallway, leaving Fenris alone in the doorway to his apartment. Fenris stepped inside, shut the door, locked it, and sank down against the door until he was sitting on the floor.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. How was he going to face Anders again when the man knew (or had a fair guess) about his past? Fenris could handle criticism. He could handle being in close proximity to Mages and magic- he had been dealing with it for a while now, and wasn’t entirely traumatized. He could even make friends with Mages. But to let in more people who knew about his past? People who would look at him and know? It would change things. Change everything. They wouldn’t see him, they’d see what he was and then there would be the pity, the judgement, the walking on eggshells and Fenris couldn’t endure it. Not again. He left Tevinter for a fresh start, and he didn’t want anyone’s pity.

He certainly didn’t want the pity of a strangely dressed, sharp-mouthed, scarecrow of a man who had this strange faith in his abilities. Anders was his tutor, and Fenris didn’t intend, shouldn't desire, for them to grow any closer than that. That was the end of their story, finished before it even began. Good, Fenris thought, and he pulled himself to his feet. Good. He couldn’t spend all day worrying about what Anders did and didn’t know about him.

He had a paper to write.

-

The next time Fenris saw Anders it was at the Student Health Center. He walked in for a free flu shot, hoping to stave off the next round of choke damp this year. He was texting his roommate, Aveline, to let her know that he was getting his shot before heading to the grocery store to pick up some groceries. He was about to ask if she needed him to pick up anything for her when he was interrupted by a sharp, cheery, and irritatingly familiar voice.

“Fenris! What a pleasant surprise,” Anders declared cheerfully. Fenris looked up and nearly gaped at the sight before him. 

Gone were the crop tops and torn jeans, gone was the canvas jacket covered in patches. Gone were the protest signs and cat carrier and everything else that Fenris had come to associate with Anders. Instead he was wearing medical scrubs. Granted, the pattern was something ridiculous, white and gray kittens cuddling together on a pink background with little red hearts hovering over their heads, but still. It was professional. It looked good. The shot of heat that ran through Fenris’s body was unexpected, but not entirely unwelcome. That was confusing enough on its own, and Fenris didn’t want to inspect it any further, but then Anders started talking.

“So, I’ll be administering your shot today,” Anders explained. “Right arm or left?”

“Left,” Fenris replied.

“Mind rolling up your sleeve for me?” Anders asked as he carefully removed the needle from its packaging and filled it with the vaccine. Fenris rolled up his shirt sleeve, and winced when Anders wiped at a small patch of his skin with a cold antibacterial wipe.

“You’ve got nice tats. White ink is notoriously fickle, but it looks good on you,” Anders remarked. “Not everyone can pull it off.”

“Thanks,” Fenris muttered. The tattoos were a suggestion of Isabela, something to cover up some of the scarring from- well, from Tevinter. He was getting used to people staring. He still wasn’t used to compliments. Or perhaps it was only compliments from Anders that got his blood pumping and heart racing. Don’t think about it, don’t think about it, vishante kaffas, don’t THINK about it!

"I... you know a lot about tattoos," Fenris stated.

"Yes. Got a few myself," Anders said, and then he looked slyly at Fenris, lowering his long lashes and smiling that sharp grin of his. "But you already knew that, didn't you?" And while Fenris flushed and tried to pretend that he didn't hear that, Anders seemed to have finished preparing the vaccine.

“There we are,” Anders exclaimed, “I’m going to give you your shot on the count of three. You should feel a bit of a pinch, but nothing more than that. If you want any magic healing to close up the pin prick and help with the ache in your arm-”

“No. No, thank you,” Fenris said hastily.

“Suit yourself,” Anders replied. “It doesn’t really help, in my experience. I think it’s more of a placebo effect. Magic can’t fix every little ache and pain, you know. Now, on three. One, two, three.” There was a pinch, and then Anders was wiping at his arm with another antibacterial wipe before slapping a tiny bandage on the spot.

“I… didn’t expect that from you,” Fenris finally said as he rolled the sleeve of his shirt back down. Anders sighed. He rolled his honey colored eyes, but didn’t seem terribly annoyed.

“Magic can’t solve every problem. It’s not some mysterious cure-all or boogeyman. It just… exists. Some people are skilled at sports. Some people can do magic,” Anders stated firmly as he sealed the used needle into a plastic bag and tossed it into a bin. “I just happen to be very good at healing magic. Very, very good.”

“But some people are skilled at other magic. Dangerous magic,” Fenris pointed out as he hopped off the bench and walked towards the door. If he just walked fast enough, he could leave the conversation and not have to address this topic again. But Anders wasn’t going to let him. He walked with Fenris out the door and down the hallway.

“And some people are good at other dangerous things,” Anders retorted, but then he shook his head and smiled wryly.

“Hawke said you were from Tevinter. I don’t know how bad it was, and I’m not going to pry-” Anders began to say, but Fenris interrupted him before he could continue his thought.

“Good. Don’t.” Fenris muttered.

“I just want to- well, I understand. I get it. But magic is a part of who I am, and if you’re uncomfortable with me being your tutor, I understand if you need to find someone else,” Anders said firmly. “I… probably should have told you that before.”

Fenris stared at him. Anders was apologizing? To him? That was… unusual. In Fenris’s experience, apologies were rare things. But Anders seemed sincere, and he was… well, despite being everything that Fenris should fear, Anders was likable. Fenris liked him, and he couldn’t deny that Anders’s tutoring was helping him. His writing was improving. His scores were higher. And Anders challenged Fenris in a way that no one had before. Anders believed that Fenris could write about complex subjects, and he helped Fenris meet those challenges.

“No- that is, I’m used to you now,” Fenris stated. “And I see improvement in my work. I would prefer to have you as my tutor.”

“Well, then,” Anders replied, and Fenris wondered if he was imagining those two spots of color high on Anders’s cheeks. “Well, I, uh… see you next week, then?” Anders was twisting the hem of his top between his fingers, and his eyes darted everywhere but where Fenris stood.

He’s embarrassed, Fenris realized. Anders is embarrassed. He could dish out the teasing, but he 

Adorable.

“Yes, Anders. I’ll see you next week,” Fenris replied. Before he pushed on the door to leave, Fenris turned and looked at Anders.

“I like your scrubs, by the way,” Fenris said, and he grinned when a bright pink blush spread across Anders’s cheeks and down his neck. Fenris walked into the sunshine, but before the door closed behind him he heard Anders call out.

“Be sure to bring your graded paper to the next session so we can look over it!” Anders said, and Fenris waved before heading to his car. His shoulder didn’t ache, there was a bounce to his step, and there was a wide smile on his face. It was a fine day.

-

“A B isn’t bad. 85%? It’s good, Fenris. You did well,” Anders said firmly. They sat in the student union building near the coffee shop. Anders parked himself in one of the beaten down leather armchairs in the corner. He folded his long legs underneath himself, curling his long, skinny body into a ball. Fenris slid further into his own armchair and tried not to flush with pleasure at Anders’s praise. Yes, the score was better, and he had felt some mild satisfaction in knowing that he managed to grasp the material this time, but still...

“I had hoped to do better,” he confessed, feeling a little silly. An instant perfect score was a bit of a ridiculous expectation, wasn’t it? But if he didn’t do well, if he didn’t excel, he felt worthless. Useless. That voice echoed in his head, taunting him. Empty-headed gutter-rat with a pretty face, the voice crooned. Pretty, empty eyes, can’t do a thing without someone holding your leash and directing you, can you? The voice didn’t bother him as much as it used to, but it was still there, laughing at him. He drew his light jacket closer towards him, as if it could ward off the chill those dark thoughts brought.

“Well, you did,” Anders insisted warmly, banishing the self-doubt in Fenris’s mind for a brief moment. “You did better. And you’ll do even better next time. You just needed some practice and another pair of eyes on your work. Lots of people need that. Maker’s Ass, I can always use an editor. An extra pair of eyes is always helpful.”

“Extra eyes to catch the many variations of ‘there’ in my papers?” Fenris asked dryly. The remark drew a laugh from Anders, which made Fenris smile. Anders had a rather nice laugh that came from deep within his chest. His thin face lit up, and the lines at the corners of his eyes and around his mouth deepened a little. He seemed to laugh not just with his voice, but with his whole body, as if he were determined to let his joy infuse every aspect of his being.

“Oh that, the minor spelling errors, and of course the sentence fragments and improper citation methods,” Anders teased. “But if I can manage to convince you to consider the impact of the exchange of knowledge between Circles in literature, I will be satisfied.”

“Yes, yes, I know about the Society of Letters too. They had their own version in Tevinter, between certain Magisters,” Fenris retorted. “But I’m not convinced of your interpretation of ‘A Treatise On Love.’ It seems too… far-fetched.”

“Not really, when you consider how the Chantry broke up possible relationships by shipping Mages to different Circles,” Anders replied with a shrug. “You can see where a writer, a Mage writer, would compare the struggles of maintaining a secret relationship to games like chess or cards.” Anders sighed then, and turned his paper coffee cup around in his hands. Long hands. Thin hands. Surprisingly elegant hands, considering how strangely tall and thin Anders was. How would those hands feel in his own? Fenris looked away and reminded himself that Anders was a perfectly fine tutor, and seemed to be a decent sort of man, even someone who could be a good friend, but he was absolutely off limits.

“You were right about Phantom of the Spire. It seems half the class wrote about it. My professor was happy to read something different,” Fenris said, hoping the topic would keep Anders from noticing the flush on Fenris's cheeks. Fenris waited for Anders to gloat, but Anders only smiled. It was a smug smile, and he was clearly expecting Fenris to continue speaking. Damn the man to the Fade, he knew that Fenris had more to say and was going to wait him out!

“And I enjoyed writing about Enchanter Marie’s dream vision poems,” Fenris added, which only made Anders grin even more.

“Don’t gloat,” Fenris muttered.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Anders replied cheerfully. “Now, about that next short paper on ‘Marcel,’ I have a few suggestions if you’re interested in hearing them.”

And so they spent their two hours together in the armchairs near the coffee shop. They went over notes and materials, Anders carefully combed through paragraphs looking for spelling and grammar errors, and corrected them by showing Fenris what worked and didn’t work in each case. Fenris was pleased to note that there were not as many mistakes as before. This new skill of catching his mistakes as he made them and correcting them was something tangible to hold onto. It was solid improvement. He might still make mistakes, but he could see them for what they were: mistakes that could be fixed. They were no longer flaws in his character or proof of his lack of intelligence. They were just mistakes that anyone could make.

Yet the most important thing, in Fenris’s opinion, was that Anders never looked down on Fenris for his writing mistakes or his interpretation of the text. He had his own opinions and wasn’t shy about expressing them, but Fenris never felt like some mouthpiece for Anders. Anders put his thoughts and feelings aside to ensure that Fenris’s voice was heard. Anders listened, and in Fenris’s experience that was a rare gift indeed.

“I like the route you’re going here, Fenris. Comparing the theme of prophetic dreams between Marie’s poetry and in Marcel is interesting,” Anders remarked absently as he brushed a strand of his hair out of his eyes. “You have an excellent grasp of the material, you only needed a little encouragement to take some risks.”

The sun caught the lock, and gleamed gold-red in the light. Fenris couldn’t look away from it, from the way Anders’s eyes scanned the paper with a strange fondness in them, from the little curve in his lips. Anders was rather attractive when he wasn’t busy being so- so odd. Or perhaps he was attractive because he was odd, or comfortable with his eccentricities in a way that Fenris never had been with himself. 

“I am grateful for your help, Anders,” Fenris murmured, and when Anders smiled at him, sharp eyes and sharp mouth soft, Fenris’s heart beat faster.

-

Fenris sat in his room, stared at his phone, and tried to calm his racing heart. He stared at the glowing screen and the text alert. One text from Anders. Fenris took a deep breath and told himself that it was probably nothing. But Anders never texted him casually, and he couldn’t have been imagining the way Anders was warming up to him during their tutoring sessions. And they kept running into each other, seeing each other in hallways, across courtyards, in the library, near the duck pond- fasta vass, they were even eating lunch together when it was convenient! Fenris saw Anders far more than their weekly tutoring sessions, and they fell into an easy pattern of spending time together.

Perhaps this friendship was a little odd. Anders was comfortable in the spotlight, and Fenris was anything but. Anders was outspoken and passionate, and Fenris was reserved. Most of all, Anders was a Mage and Fenris feared Mages and magic. Yet somehow, it worked. Anders was clever, funny, and he didn’t prod or pry into Fenris’s past. He listened. He waited. He made Fenris feel comfortable and supported, and it was… nice. Good. Better than good. It was something Fenris could have never anticipated, but he found himself looking forward to his meetings with Anders. And, maybe, Fenris hoped, Anders looked forward to seeing Fenris as well.

Fenris knew he couldn’t have imagined those soft smiles, the laughter, the way Anders would tease, how he leaned close to Fenris when they walked together- it meant something, didn’t it? Had it been anyone else, Fenris would be certain it was flirtation, but Anders was… different. Anders seemed to flirt with everyone, always ready with a smile and quip. But was it different with him? Did Anders behave differently around him? Fenris couldn’t tell, and the thoughts and possibilities were nearly paralyzing. What would he do if Anders didn’t see Fenris in a romantic light? What would he do if he did?

“Just read the text, you damn fool,” Fenris grumbled, and he read the message.

“Can’t make session this week, taking Pounce to the vet for his check-up. Reschedule?” Anders had texted.

Well, didn’t he feel foolish now? Fenris released the breath he was holding and quickly typed something back.

“Yes. Saturday at 12:45? Can get lunch.” Fenris suggested, and he waited for Anders’s response. The little blue text bubble blinked, and Fenris waited impatiently for Anders to finish typing.

“Sounds good. Sandwiches? ;p” Anders asked.

“Certainly. Meet you at the ugly statue,” Fenris said, thinking of one of the obvious campus landmarks. It was a hideously huge bronze statue of a woman with a Crown of Andraste on her head and a sword in her hands. Her face was like a brick- rectangular with no expression. Fenris hated that statue, but then again, almost everyone hated the statue. But it made meeting up with friends and classmates easy. Everyone knew where the ugly statue was.

“Maker’s Balls, that’s the perfect name for it! :D” Anders replied. “It’s hideous. I think it’s supposed to be Andraste, but her bosom was definitely better than that,”

“Don’t fuck the statue, Anders,” Fenris teased. “You may get tetanus.” For a moment he wondered if he had gone too far, but then Anders texted.

“Ah, and there goes my life ambition,” Anders snarked back. “My heart is broken.”

“You’ll recover,” Fenris texted. “I’ll see you Saturday, Anders.”

“Or earlier, if we happen to catch each other before then,” Anders replied. “Night, Fenris.”

“Goodnight, Anders,” Fenris replied, and he placed his phone on his desk before heading into his bathroom to take a shower. While he showered, he thought of spending more time with Anders, of convincing him to perhaps spend more time with him after this semester. Perhaps he would suggest lunch, or dinner, or maybe a movie. Maybe they’d go to a cafe and drink coffee, or go hiking on some of the trails along the Wounded Coast or at the base of Sundermount. Maybe they could go to the market- and as Fenris imagined these possibilities, he smiled.

He was thinking about asking Anders on a date, and the prospect wasn’t frightening at all.

And that was wonderful.

-

“So, you’re going to have to rewrite the conclusion. It’s a bit wishy-washy. You start with a strong thesis statement, but the ending is too open-ended,” Anders said firmly. “Why don’t you re-write your introduction and use that re-written portion as the conclusion?”

“Won’t that be too obvious?” Fenris asked, and he subtly leaned closer to Anders as he looked at Fenris’s third draft of his final paper. They sat inside the library in a study room Fenris booked for an hour. It was freezing outside, and Fenris bundled up in a thick jacket and scarves to combat the cold. Even inside the small study room, with the heaters blasting hot air, Fenris couldn’t help but inch closer to Anders for warmth.

Well, perhaps not just for warmth, but he couldn’t deny that the man seemed to radiate heat.

“No. You’re restating your argument. Bookending it. It’s a solid technique,” Anders replied. “But this is good, Fenris. Really good. You should be proud of what you’ve done!”

“I would hope so, considering that it is the last paper of the semester,” Fenris said as he took out a notebook and scribbled down a rough concluding paragraph for this final paper. “If I hadn’t improved by now, I would be utterly ashamed of myself.”

“Fen, you’re a perfectionist. I think you’d die of shame if you didn’t master every task you set in front of yourself,” Anders said with a laugh, and Fenris laughed with him. Anders looked ridiculously pretty in his cream colored sweater and with his hair loose around his face, and Fenris couldn’t bear going a second longer without letting Anders know that he was interested, that he liked Anders, that there was something more than friendship between them and that Fenris was interested in learning what lay between them.

“There are some things I would like to master,” Fenris confessed, and when Anders turned his head towards him Fenris leaned up and forward and pressed a kiss to Anders’s cheek. It was quick. It didn’t linger. But Anders seemed to get the idea.

“Oh,” Anders whispered. “Fenris.” And then Anders turned his head slightly, and pressed his chapped lips against Fenris’s own. It wasn’t a demanding kiss. It wasn’t hungry. It was warm. Friendly. A little shy. When Anders finally pulled away, Fenris wanted to chase after those lips. He wanted to meet them again. He wanted to know this part of Anders, like he was learning everything else about Anders. But as he leaned in Anders placed his hand on Fenris’s chest, gently stopping him from coming closer. Fenris felt a chill creep up his spine and settle around his heart. He misunderstood the signs. He made assumptions. He thought Anders was interested, and he was wrong. Fasta Vass, he was wrong!

“I… I’m sorry,” Fenris said, his voice hoarse. “I shouldn’t have-”

“Don’t,” Anders murmured, and he leaned close, close enough that his hair brushed against Fenris’s cheek. “Don’t apologize.” Anders closed his eyes and breathed in, then out, slow and even. Anders’s hand clutched at the cotton of Fenris’s shirt, but Anders kept his hand there over Fenris’s heart. Fenris waited and wondered at what Anders was going to say, what he was going to do. Was he angry? Upset? He didn’t look angry, but anyone could hide how they truly felt.

“Andraste’s Tits, Fen,” Anders finally breathed out, and when he opened his eyes and smiled Fenris found the tightness in his chest ease. “That- that was... thank you. But-”

“But?” Fenris repeated.

“I’m your tutor right now,” Anders said, and he pulled away from Fenris until they were close, but no longer touching. “We can’t. Not right now. It wouldn’t- we have work to do.” Anders pulled away fully then, busying himself with Fenris’s rough draft of his paper. His cheeks were bright pink, and his sharp mouth was curved into a soft smile. He wasn’t angry, Fenris realized. Anders liked the kiss. He liked Fenris!

“But afterwards?” Fenris pressed, wanting confirmation for what was racing in his heart.

“We have two weeks before the end of the semester,” Anders murmured. “As soon as your class is over and you get this paper back- well, I’m willing to give it a go if you are.”

“Two weeks then,” Fenris repeated, and he picked up his pencil and began to write another sample conclusion for this final paper. “I’ll hold you to it.”

-

Fenris hurried out of the Literature and Languages department with his paper in one hand and his knitted hat in the other. He pulled the beanie over his head and ears as he pushed on his professor’s office door and hurried down the hall towards the doors that led outside, where Anders was eagerly waiting for him. He couldn’t help but grin as he crossed the threshold and caught sight of Anders waiting for him in the courtyard below.

Anders was wearing his typical worn jeans and scuffed up combat boots, with his thick cable knit sweater and canvas jacket. A bright red scarf wound around his neck, which made him easy to pick out in the crowd of students walking around. Fenris walked quickly, taking the steps two at a time, and as he approached Anders Anders held his arms out and enveloped Fenris in a hug. He wrapped his arms around Fenris’s shoulders, Fenris wrapped his arms around Anders’s waist, and in a moment of high spirits and joy and utter relief, Fenris lifted Anders off his feet and spun him around.

“Things went well?” Anders asked, laughing as Fenris set him on his feet again. Fenris grinned and released Anders from his arms before offering Anders his final essay like a war prize. There, at the top of the margin, written in bright red ink, was his grade. 96 out of 100.

“Better than expected,” Fenris replied, and he grinned. “Do I get a reward?”

“Bossy,” Anders murmured, and he cupped Fenris’s face with his freezing hands. He leaned down, and Fenris went up to his toes and met Anders in a soft, warm kiss. Fenris felt Anders grin against his mouth, and he couldn’t help the bubble of laughter that escaped him.

“You bossy, brilliant man,” Anders repeated once he pulled away, their shared breath forming pale clouds between them. “I am so proud of you, Fenris.”

“Mmmm,” Fenris hummed, pleasure and pride making his toes curl. “Kiss me again.”

“Demanding,” Anders teased, but he obeyed. As they embraced in the cold, the snow began to fall in big, fat flakes around them. And for one shining moment, all was bright. All was perfect.

“I’m taking another litarture class next semester,” Fenris remarked as he took Anders’s hand in his own and lead him towards the Student Union Building and warmth. “It’s called ‘Poetry of the Dragon Age.’ I may need a tutor.”

“Ah. I may have a recommendation,” Anders said slyly, “though I hear his fees are quite steep.”

“Oh? How steep?” Fenris asked.

“Well, I hear he only takes payment in kisses,” Anders teased, and when he laughed, Fenris joined him. And as they walked together through the crowds and the falling snow, Fenris thought of the central theme of his final essay.

_The anonymous narrator of 'A Treatise On Love' proclaims, 'Love is but a game/ And I am the poorest of players.' Yet the narrator asserts that, despite the trials and tribulations, love is a game worth playing._

**Author's Note:**

> I had hoped to make this my last fic of 2018, but it is now the first of 2019!
> 
> Once again, as always, thank you for reading!


End file.
